Lessons in Self-Defense
by chadtayor020
Summary: While helping Holmes catch a criminal he is injured. He then decides to call upon Holmes to teach him the ways of The Manly Art of Self-Defense.


**I apologize for any inaccuracies in style and if you don't like this story. I felt compelled to write it. **

**Lessons in Self-Defense**

**Chapter 1**

I found myself in a dark alley-way, revolver cocked in preparation for use. My friend Sherlock Holmes had warned me in advance that our quarry was a dangerous individual, who for legal reasons shall only be known as "R". "R" was responsible for a dozen robberies over the last several weeks, he was especially notable in his savagery; even those victims who immediately surrendered were beaten senseless. Holmes and Lestrade had tracked "R" to his base of operations in the West End. Holmes instructed me to wait in the alley way I found myself in, in order to stop the robber should he try to escape.

There was an old man in the alley way with me, he looked no different from the numerous tramps and poor souls who could not find a decent occupation and had to beg for their meat and bread. I had to ignore him despite my better nature and focus on the task at hand, stopping "R" should he appear. I saw the man come running down towards me, the sound of hounds coming from behind him. I raised my revolver and said, "STOP!" I then saw a glint of steel and turned just in time to shoot my attacker, the old man. "R" had closed the distance by then and punched my jaw hard. I dropped my gun in shock but managed to grab "R" and prevent him from escaping.

"HE'S HERE!" I yelled, determined not to let the scoundrel go. "Leggo of me!" the robber yelled then bashed his head into my nose, breaking it. He was temporarily confused by the sudden shock, so was I, yet I managed to recover first and punched "R" in his head as hard as I could. Unfortunately life isn't a yellow novel, which I was reminded when I felt two of my knuckles break over his head. I grabbed my wounded hand and hissed in pain, giving "R" all the time he needed to punch me in the jaw, knocking me back and down. The fiend got on top of my and hit me again in my already broken nose. I defended myself as best I could and managed to hit him in the side with my uninjured hand and get on top of him.

"R" rolled back on top, grabbed my throat and tried to strangle me. He might well have if I hadn't pushed against him with both my arms as hard as I could. "WATSON!" I heard Holmes yell as he ran over and bashed "R" over the head with the tip of his cane, knocking him unconscious. I rubbed my sore throat as Holmes helped me up and handed me his handkerchief for my nose. "Are you alright?" Holmes asked me. "I've been better," I told him, hurting my neck and jaw to talk. Lestrade soon appeared and put his handcuffs on "R", "Who is that man?" Lestrade asked; pointing to the man I had shot. "He was either an accomplice or a madman; he tried to stab me when I wasn't paying attention," I managed to say.

Lestrade gave my face a good look and said, "You should go home Doctor, we can take it from here. I'll make sure to note your service in this matter in my report." Lestrade lifted up the waking criminal and said, "It's off to prison with you." Holmes put an arm around my shoulders and helped me to the street and called for a carriage to take us to my home. "Watson, I am so sorry for this. Had I known that "R" had an accomplice I would have taken more appropriate measures," Holmes told me. I just nodded, already feeling my jaw start to swell from the powerful blow it had received.

We arrived at my home and Holmes told the driver to stay while he helped walk me to my house. My dear wife Mary opened the door and frantically said, "Oh my, John, are you alright?!" I looked at Holmes, not wanting to talk with my jaw in the condition it was. "Mrs. Watson, your husband captured a dangerous criminal tonight. Unfortunately, he did not go quietly. I'm afraid that your husband's jaw will need ice to reduce some swelling, his nose was also broken during the fight, as well as two knuckles from when he fought back," Holmes explained to Mary as they shepherded me to my chair in our living room. Mary headed to our ice box and saw that there was little left as the ice man was expected tomorrow.

She took what little there was and wrapped it in her handkerchief and came back and pressed it to my swollen jaw. I managed to give her a weak smile as best I could, then mime as if I was writing. Holmes understood and went into my study, coming back a minute later with a lead pencil and paper. I took the pencil and managed to write the word 'bandages' with my unwounded hand. Mary nodded and while I held the ice with my uninjured hand took the bandages out of my medical bag and started wrapping my injured hand. I thanked God for creating my dear wife as she delicately yet firmly properly set and bandaged my injured hand.

Holmes stood back from us as Mary ministered me. He had a look in his eyes that showed complete sadness, "I leave him to you, Madam. Watson, I'm sorry this had to happen." And without any further words he left. Mary finished wrapping my hand and said, "I was afraid that this would happen." Pressing the ice to my jaw with my bandaged hand I wrote with the other, "It wasn't his fault. I let my guard down." Mary read my message and shook her head, "John, you can't keep doing this. What if that robber had gotten the upper hand? I can't bear the thought of losing you." I only smiled and hugged her, trying not to show how afraid I was.

**Chapter 2**

My jaw was fine the next day, though bruised for a week. My broken knuckles on the other hand required three weeks to heal properly. During those three weeks I managed to continue my practice, whenever a patient required surgery I would always refer them to a colleague for the operation. My patients all expressed deepest sympathy with my plight, though I could not tell them how I was injured. The day before my knuckles fully recovered one of my patients, an older gentleman with numerous scars across his body said, "You were in a fight, Doc." "Yes, I was, with a robber," I told him.

My patient nodded and said, "You punched him wrong. You can't just blindly punch a man in the head, if you hit the wrong spot you end up getting hurt. I'm surprised that you didn't hit him in the nose or such." "I was preoccupied with surviving and did not think until after my knuckles broke," I told him. My patient laughed and as he left said, "You need to learn the manly art of self defense." The year was 1889, public pugilistic events were criminal, and yet learning it was supposedly easy. I then remembered that Holmes was a boxer of some merit according to one man I had met. When my working-day was over I returned home and talked to Mary, "I believe I should take up pugilism in my free time." Mary sat down next to me on our couch and said, "Really?" I nodded in affirmation and she said, "It would give you a reason to come out of the house," and laughed at my embarrassment as I realized that I did in fact need to exert myself physically more often.

The next day I took a carriage to 221B Baker Street and was ushered into my old room I had once shared with Holmes. Holmes was sitting at his chair playing his violin. I waited for him to finish playing before he acknowledged my presence, "Watson, you are looking much better." "I have come to ask a favor of you. I realized that I need to learn how to better defend myself if I am to continue helping you," I explained. "You wish for me to teach you how to box," Holmes bluntly stated as he put his violin back in its case. "Indeed," I told him. Holmes got out his pipe and some tobacco from his Persian slipper and proceeded to prepare his pipe before sitting down and smoke for several minutes while I awaited his answer.

"Understand, dear Watson; that I only hesitate because I am trying to think of what would be the best method to teach you. This won't be over in a few lessons, and when it's over you will have to continue on your own, which will necessitate your buying equipment. You are going to also have to exercise your body as well as your mind in order to learn pugilism and be effective. This will hurt, and in all likelihood by the time we are done you will have a special dislike of me. Do you still wish to proceed?"

I nodded and Holmes stood up and went to one of the many large piles of papers that always infested our old room and soon came up with a manuscript. "We are going to a show tomorrow; you may bring your wife as well. There is a man, Eugen Sandow, he is making a name for himself in the physical culture, and will be demonstrating his physical attributes tomorrow. I hope that I can arrange to meet him for advice on how to train you," Holmes told me as he handed the paper to me. I looked and saw a painting of Herr Sandow lifting up two men in baskets over his head, "Surely you jest; this man looks to me to be a mere…circus strongman."

Holmes nodded and said, "Indeed, however, unlike circus strongmen, he claims that anyone can achieve similar results if they follow his regimen." "I'm not trying to become a professional boxer, Holmes. I just want to know how to defend myself better," I told him, with a twinge of pride in not wanting to admit how out of shape I actually was. "Watson, you know my methods. I never do anything that is a waste of time or energy. In order to know how to box well, you must know how to say in good condition to fight, as you never know when you may need to," Holmes reminded me. "Very well," I sighed, "Mary and I shall join you tomorrow." With that I left and went back home.

**Chapter 3**

Mary and I met Holmes outside of a theater and went inside of it. It was a rather fine one, more used as the setting of opera and Shakespeare than displaying the human form. We took our seats and waited for Herr Sandow. A tall man with a handlebar mustache whose facial features spoke of German and Russian descent appeared onstage wearing a robe and everyone applauded, here was Eugen Sandow. Two other men arrived carrying a rather heavy dumbbell, and they were obviously struggling to carry it. They put it down in front of Herr Sandow who nodded for them to leave. The man took off his robe and everyone gasped at how muscular he was. And the fact that he was practically nude.

He wasn't too bulky, but he was definitely quite strong, which he then demonstrated by lifting up the dumbbell, which the two other men had struggled with, over his head to applause with a smile on his face. He then astounded the crowd further by holding it up with his right hand by itself, with no show of intense effort on his face, and then did the same with his left hand. "I invite anyone in the audience to try to prove that this is fraud by coming up and lifting up my dumbbell," Herr Sandow said. Mary was enthralled at the display, more so at the man's muscles. Holmes touched my arm and said, "Go on Watson, let's see what you're made of." "Go on John," Mary encouraged as well.

I looked at both of them and sighed as I stood up to the applause of the crowd and took off my hat and coat then walked up the stage rolling up my sleeves. "Your name good sir?" Herr Sandow asked. "Dr. John H. Watson," I informed him and was given another round of applause as I went to lift up the dumbbell. I grasped it firmly and was shocked at how heavy it actually was. Gritting my teeth I began to lift it slowly up to my waist. With sweat on my brow and a grunt I lifted it higher. It got to my chin, and I couldn't go any higher despite Mary and Holmes's urging me on. Herr Sandow must have sensed how close I was to dropping the dumbbell as he soon placed both hands on it and said, "Very good Herr Doctor. I got it, you can let go."

I let go with a loud sigh of relief and put my hands on my knees to catch a breath, all to a third round of applause as I left the stage and returned to my seat. "What was the point of that?" I asked Holmes. "I wanted to see how much training you would require Watson. You made a good show of it; two months should suffice for you," Holmes informed me as Herr Sandow started to pose for the audience, making various groups of muscles stand out in stark relief. Holmes and I examined them closely, Mary as well. From her blushing I could tell that she wasn't studying Herr Sandow's muscles scientifically, and I admit that I felt a rather large twinge of jealousy.

After the show was over we left the theater and Marie and I returned home after Holmes informed me to see him at 221B tomorrow morning, around six o'clock.

**Chapter 4**

My alarm clock awakened me around five o'clock. I reluctantly got up and reset it then got dressed and went out. I thought that Holmes might be able to provide my breakfast if needed. I took a carriage to Baker Street and went into the old flat. Holmes was awake reading a manuscript when I entered the room. "Good morning Watson," he said. I returned the greeting and asked, "Why are we up so early?" "Training. For the next two months, we shall forego breakfast and I shall train you in pugilism in its stead. We shall do these sessions six days a week, any objections?" Holmes stated. "Very well, let's begin," I said, Holmes stood up and we walked out. Holmes did not order a carriage so I assumed that we were not going far.

An hour later we arrived at a rather squalid looking building and entered it. Inside I saw a dumbbell like Herr Sandow had used the night before as well as a "heavy punching bag" and a smaller one that I later found out was called a "speed bag". "First, we shall work with the dumbbell, and then we shall jog, and finally work with the bags. The heavy bag is for strength, the small one, speed. We will do this for several hours a day, every day except for Sunday. Do you have any objections, Watson?" Holmes told me. "None," I said as I took off my overcoat and shirt.

First was the dumbbell. He had me lie down and push it up as much as I could. I performed two dozen such maneuvers before I stopped. We then ran along the inside of the building for perhaps a half hour, by the end I could barely walk. After allowing me five minutes to recover Holmes showed me the various methods of punching a man. "Remember," he explained to me, "never bend your wrist when you make contact, or you may sprain it. When striking the head, aim for the nose, the jaw, and the temples. You can hit many spots on the body, but the best places to hit are the ribs and the solar plexus. Always aim for those areas to avoid breaking your bones like you did when fighting "R", understood?"

"Yes," I exhaustedly said. For the next hour and a half I punched the "heavy bag", always mindful to keep my wrists straight the whole time to keep them intact upon contact. By the time I was done I could barely lift my arms above my waist. "I know, it is exhausting, Watson. But, it is all necessary if you are to become an adequate pugilist. Just think of how Mary fawned over Herr Sandow's body. By the time we're done, you may just find yourself the subject for such attentions," Holmes said, and we had a good laugh over that before he had me go over to the "speed bag" and for the next hour I somehow managed to bring my hands up and strike it.

Holmes declared that we were done training for the day around ten thirty and took a carriage back to my home. Mary was shocked at my exhausted condition but upon explanation accepted it as to be expected. A quick change of clothes was all I needed, and a handsome luncheon provided by Mary to recover. The rest of the day I ran my practice, none of my patients seemed the wiser of my training regimen.

**Chapter 5**

My daily routine went in that route for the next month; I would wake up around six, neglect breakfast in favor of lifting weights, jogging, and practicing punches on bags. I was miserable on Sundays, and very thankful for the Sabbath day and its lack of work or training. Holmes noticed my distress two weeks in and had me strip off my shirt to observe my progress, "You are doing well, Watson. You've already lost a fair amount of fat, and it is in the process of being replaced with muscle. Two more weeks and you and Mary will be very thankful for the exercise." I was too tired to acknowledge that remark and only nodded as I put my shirt back on. Two weeks later Mary and I proved Holmes right, and I decided to continue onto the second month.

After the month was over and the usual routine of weight lifting, jogging, and punching the bags was done, Holmes told me, "You've made exceptional progress Watson. Now that you know how to punch, it's time to learn how to box." Holmes demonstrated the proper techniques of dodging and blocking blows for a fair ten minutes then we practiced on each other.

I attempted a straight jab which Holmes blocked and tried a haymaker punch. I dodged it and attempted an uppercut. Holmes blocked it and gave me a sound cross on the jaw. Adrenaline was coursing through my veins; I hardly felt the blow as I answered with a hook to Holmes's ribs. He grunted and tried a combination or jabs and crosses which I barely blocked. He finished with an uppercut to my jaw that knocked me down. "Very good, Watson, you have quite a talent for pugilism," he said as he helped me back up. I rubbed my jaw, "I hope this doesn't become a habit of yours." Holmes rubbed his ribs and said, "It won't. It's a shame that no one has equipment for protecting one during sparring sessions. We need to control ourselves, or else we'll beat each other bloody."

I heartily agreed and we went back to my home for luncheon. Mary was shocked at the bruise developing on my face and glared at Holmes the whole time we dined. Afterwards I practiced my trade and nothing else of import happened for several weeks. The routine was always the same, skipping breakfast, exercising, and sparring. At the end of the month much of the fat that had accumulated on my body was gone. Mary didn't like the sparring aspect of the regimen, but she was happy with the results.

At the end of the two months I decided to continue with the training by myself to maintain my now well-honed physique, and Mary and Holmes agreed with me. Mary would accompany me during that time and perform calisthenics herself while I punched the bags. This went on for another month, and I never felt better, I felt even stronger than during my soldiering days. In the month that followed I would soon put my skills to the test.

Holmes had been hired by Lestrade to assist him to find a madman whom had escaped from an asylum and was feared to be violent. I was filled with confidence that I could assist in the matter and Holmes had me come to assist. We tracked down the madman to a farm in the countryside, the police had it surrounded. The madman was clever however and had managed to slip by them. I spotted him and yelled, "I have him!" and gave chase. The police and Holmes followed, yet I was closer and trapped him. "Surrender, you cannot escape," I told him. The madman looked at me with fear that one would expect more in an animal's face than a man's, and charged at me.

I blocked his punch and responded with one to the ribs. The madman was furious and tried to hit my face, I blocked again and jabbed his nose, making him stumble back. "Surrender, I don't want to hurt you," I told him. He ignored me and charged at me headfirst, trying to tackle me. I sidestepped him and let him pass a little then chased him and tackled him to the ground. I wrestled on top and held him as Holmes arrived and helped me to restrain him further while we waited for Lestrade to arrive with the straight-jacket and shackles. After quite a struggle we managed to restrain him enough that we could transport the poor devil back to the asylum.

On our way back to London Holmes said, "Your lessons worked very well, Watson. You are quite the pugilist now." "Indeed. But, I don't think I want to use it overmuch. That poor man held no real malice towards me, he only wanted to be left alone," I told him. Holmes nodded and said, "Indeed. However, do you think that you could have restrained him otherwise?" "No, I couldn't have. It seems that your lessons have saved my life. Thank you Holmes," I told him. "It was nothing Watson. I was merely helping a friend, nothing more," Holmes replied, and we were silent the rest of the ride home.


End file.
